Closure
by novocaine.candycane
Summary: ONESHOT. It's not me, but it's not you. It's us, and sometimes I just need a little closure. I just need to know who I am.


**Ahhhh. Before you guys read…**

**Another warning that this is meant to be disturbing. And shocking and gross. And dark and ominous. And just plain weird. It's meant to have a narrator who's confused about who she is and what she wants. If you can't take it, turn away now! :')**

**Ooh and… I was inspired by the song Rooftop by Melissa McClelland. If any of you want to listen to it, I'd like to think that it sets a nice and sad atmosphere for the story. It's especially reflective of… Well, how Alice would feel at the end of this story.**

**Without further ado…**

* * *

My mother always told me that you want what you can't have, but you can have what you need.

I want danger.

I want pain.

I want ecstasy.

I want it all.

But I _need_ to make sure.

I need everything to make sense again.

I need a resolution.

I need it now.

* * *

He tells me he loves me.

He traces a finger lightly down my collarbone. He looks up at me and smirks, as if to mock me. He takes a little blade within his right hand. At first, he traces the crook of my arm lightly, humming a sweet melody to himself. Then, his iron grip on my wrist becomes tighter, and I feel constricted. I'm being caged. I cry out in alarm. Who is he? Who is this? And who am I?

"Shush, Alice. Don't worry…"

Oh. I'm Alice. He smiles his wicked grin. The corners of his mouth turn up and look as sharp as his knife, shaped like a crescent moon. Unlike it, however, his smile is not pretty.

Neither is the scream that comes from my mouth. Throaty, animal… A cacophony.

He makes a tiny gash at first and a tiny droplet of red forms on my skin. It wells up, as he pushes his silver blade in, deeper and deeper. The sting of pain makes me make a noise of protest, and he clamps his hand down on my mouth, letting go of my wrist. I look at the red mark he's made, and decide that I don't know whether I should smile or frown. I contemplate whether I should bite his hand and make a run, or suck it up and enjoy the pain of being cut right open. I settle for _none of the above_, and watch him, careful like the prey should be. I'm waiting for his next move. I'll know what to do then, won't I?

"Does it hurt?" He asks, in mock concern, "It's okay, I love you, so just calm down… I'd never hurt you. It's alright."

He slowly removes his hand from my mouth, taking his fingers and prodding my newly opened wound. His fingers become stained with red, and he watches in amusement as it stains the white of my apron dress.

He murmurs sweet nothings to me, but I don't care what he's saying. Instead I'm thinking, '_will I die here?_'

The thought almost makes me smile, but then I decide that maybe this isn't a good idea. I wrapped two layers of bandages around my calf last week, three around my thigh yesterday… I cry out again as he prods my skin and my uninjured arm pushes against his chest. His eyes soften for just one moment. I stare up at him in curiosity. I wonder which of his personas has the upper hand. I wonder if he'll spare me, or if he'll dig the steel deeper. Will he reach my bone? … His hardened eyes silence my thoughts. I whimper.

"Shut up, goddamnit! You're so noisy, just shut-"

… All of a sudden he stops. He's motionless. His face looks so confused. Conflicted.

I take my hand from his chest and cup his cheek gently. I know what's happening. It's happened before. I've become used to it. He pulls his blade from my arm- earning me another pained yelp- and drops it onto the ground. It clangs against the cracked tiles.

'_Don't cry_', I want to say.

But his tears fall down anyway. They look unnatural on his fierce features and it feels like I'm looking at someone who's not supposed to cry.

I force my eyes to the ground so I don't have to watch him. I study the tiles carefully and wonder how many cracks it would take for my skin to break and fall apart. I count my wounds. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… I wonder if I'm as breakable as these tiles are. I take my uninjured arm and touch its opposite gingerly. I take a deep breath to steady myself, and then look at the swelling skin and the deep, scarlet gash.

Gag.

I taste the bile rising up my throat.

He's waking up. He's shaking off the evil. His eyes widen, red and puffy. His hand comes up to his cheek and he wipes the liquid away. His body jerks away quickly, suddenly acknowledging the fact that his weight is pinning me down.

He gets it now. He gets that he's hurt me again. He gets it completely, so he buries his face in his hands, back hunched like a vulture. He looks so pitiful.

I can feel the tears starting to sting my eyes. One droplet rolls down, and upon sitting up, I taste its saltiness on my tongue.

This is my chance.

He's stable for now. He can't hurt me. I need to make sure he's fine.

"I'm okay", I say shakily. I hope I don't sound as unsure as I feel.

He flinches at the sound of my voice, as if I've slapped him across the face. He lets out a shuddering sigh and catches his breath. I eventually have to walk over and pat him on the back because he's breathing too quickly.

Ouch, wrong arm.

I switch to my left and soothe him, suddenly painfully aware of the _drip dropping_ of my blood onto the floor.

He stops. He's still for a moment, but then he's turning his head, he's turning around. He wants to know what the sound is.

I have one second before he sees, so I swing my arm behind my back and wince as subtlety as I can possibly manage. I try to force my lips to form a smile, or laugh to relieve all the tension, but my lips are parched and cracked. My voice is gone.

"Who am I…? What have I done…?"

He's speaking to no one in particular. He's looking down, at his boots.

Does he realize that God is up, not down? Or does he forget, because when he _changes_, he becomes God? He's almighty, and he breaks and tears and rips apart? He stops only when he's done, when he feels like it…?

"I'm sorry I-"

"No. It's okay. I'm alright, seriously."

My voice comes out in a whisper.

Wait.

No.

This isn't right.

I'm not okay.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven wounds.

One, two, three, four bandages.

This is all wrong. This is horribly wrong. What is this?

Sometimes I like testing myself and seeing how many seconds it'll take until I scream. I like testing him and seeing just how far he'll go. I like seeing his confusion and his pain… His realization and regret.

I'm a little evil myself… Sometimes. Sometimes, I want him to die. Sometimes, I want him to cut me open and then cut himself open too. Sometimes I love massacre, horror, and mayhem. Sometimes I love to hurt.

But sometimes, I want him to love me. Sometimes I want him to love me so much that it hurts. Sometimes my want for him to love me hurts more than the knives he sticks mercilessly in my skin. Sometimes I want to love myself.

I realize that it's time. It's over, for now. This, I mean.

I get up, almost slipping on the tiles beneath me. They're bloodstained and wet. I start off with a walk, my back facing his slouching form. My walk turns into a jog, then into a run, and before I leave him completely, I take a lingering look back. As ever, he's beautiful. He's perfect and lovely… And terrifying. He's so scary.

"Your name is Joker. I'm Alice, nice to meet you. I love you. I love you. I'm Alice, and I love you. But most of all I'm… Sorry."

Because I am. To him, but not to myself. I've learned from my mistakes. I've learned from his. I've learned from ours… Haven't I?

I run so fast that my feet almost slip on the dew-covered grass underneath my feet. I run so fast that the thought that I need to stop sometime scares me. The fact that he won't run and come to catch me scares me. I run so fast that I lose my breath and I gasp for air.

Wait, who am I?

I run so fast that I can almost shed my skin. I'm almost not Alice. I'm almost a little girl, sitting on green grass. I'm almost lying there, asleep and half awake, about to follow a little white rabbit into the unknown. I'm almost about to decide not to. I'm almost gone, but my demons come back to haunt me.

I know who I am. I'm Alice. I'm Alice and I can't forget. I'm Alice and no matter how much physical pain I endure, I'm still me. I followed a little white rabbit down a rabbit hole and ended up here, with him. I'm Alice.

… I still want danger. I still want pain. I still want ecstasy. I'll get it another day. Maybe in a year. Maybe in forever, if I'm alive that long. Maybe if this dream continues on for that long, I'll get what I want and I know I will. He's always here. He's stuck in this wonderful but scary world, this world that mirrors him. He's chained to this place forever. I can go back to him. In some way, he's just like me. Just like him, I'm forgetting myself. He hurts me to remember, and I hurt to remember. I'll find him again someday, when I need reminding.

Just not today. I've gotten closure.

I've had enough. I know this, and it's all that I _need_.

This place that I've run to… Wherever it is, I see the perfect sun. I taste the sunshine on my lips.

My conclusion is that...

I'm free.


End file.
